Love and Marriage
by pretentious-emo-kid
Summary: WARNING - This is *complete* fluffy nonsense. Seriously, if sugary sweet isn't your thing, don't read. I won't be offended, I'm having so much fun writing it! :D Think RH RoM marriage, families etc. Yeah, I went there. *Here, have two more chapters*
1. Chapter 1

Set: About two-and-a-half years after 5.5, but the events of series 6 and 7 are…very different.

Characters: Everyone in series five (post 5.2, pre 5.6 i.e. Ruth and Ros, but no Colin), Connie, and Sam. Yeah, you heard right – Sam. I miss her!!

Pairings: Harry/Ruth, Ros/Malcolm, *hints* of Zaf/Jo

Sorry if I've been rather liberal with the artistic license – I realise that Harry probably wouldn't have the authority to completely re-jig section D, but…y'know…forgive me. :D

* * *

The bride and groom atop the cake were a present from the rest of the team. She was scowling, one hand on her hip, the other wagging angrily; he just looked weary. The somewhat bemused spooks had been unable to resist buying them upon receiving their invitations, and had left the tiny gift box on the real groom's desk, with a note that read simply:

_About bloody time!_

That had raised a private chuckle from both, when they thought that they weren't being observed.

And now, the miniature figurines were waiting patiently on their stage of creamy, ivory-coloured icing, mere hours away from their moment of glory. Similarly, their real-life counterparts were preparing for their own moment – though of course, not in the same room, and perhaps displaying marginally more obvious outward signs of nerves.

The real-life bride had chosen to get ready alone, opting for reflective solitude over the chaotic hubbub of a gaggle of bridesmaids milling around, berating her for styling her own hair on her wedding day. And so simply, as well!

Meanwhile, the real-life groom was pacing the thickly-carpeted floor of his hotel room, reciting and re-reciting his vows. He was rather proud of them, and grateful to her for allowing his idea that they write their own – he wanted to get them just right.

The real-life bride slowly, methodically applied a coating of lipstick, in a subtle, fleshy shade.

The real-life groom stood before the mirror, wondering if having an actual human face to speak his vows to would help matters. Even if it was his own, and only a reflection.

The real-life bride fastened the gorgeous, antique silver bracelet – and _priceless_ family heirloom – that she had accepted somewhat embarrassedly from Jo as her 'something borrowed'.

The real-life groom took a sip of sweet tea, hoping that it would calm his nerves. It was too hot, and he ended up spluttering in a rather undignified manner. Luckily, he avoided spilling any of the tea on his shirt.

Ros twisted a single lily into her tightly coiled, pale blonde hair, and Malcolm, whilst blowing on his tea, absentmindedly wondered if using ex-Soviet bugs to record the wedding video was _entirely _legal.

*

"Tell me," groaned Harry, fighting – and losing – a battle with his tie, "When we found out we would be back at three a.m. on the morning of Ros and Malcolm's wedding, and we said 'oh, well that's alright', _what _were we thinking?"

Ruth was calm as she batted his hands away, and used her own to fix his tie, but she could not resist taking the opportunity to roll her eyes when he briefly averted his gaze from her to worriedly study his watch.

"We were thinking," she answered, expertly taming the silk between her fingers, "That the masses of big, important men who owe you favors hardly ever bother even _trying_ to pay them back; let alone come up trumps with an all-expenses-paid trip to New York. We were thinking, that considering we spent that long weekend in Paris last month, it was my turn to be indulged."

She rested her palms on his chest, and pulled back to inspect her handiwork, before leaning towards his ear, to continue in a hushed, sultry whisper.

"We were thinking, that six days – and more importantly, _nights _– in a five star hotel, is just. Too. Good. An offer. To. Pass up."

The last part of her speech was accompanied by soft, fleeting kisses to his jaw line.

Harry smiled contentedly as his hands crept lower down her back.

"Ah, yes. I remember now."

He could not help the disappointed sigh that escaped his lips when she eventually pulled back from his embrace, teasingly thumping his shoulder in a fraternal, consolatory manner. To distract himself, he glanced back at his watch.

"You know that I'm going to have to drive like a madman to get us there on time."

Ruth raised her eyebrows at him in the bedroom mirror, in front of which she was now stood, adjusting her dress.

"Because you've always needed an excuse to do _that_, of course."

*

It had been ten months since Ruth's name had been cleared, and she had bashfully, and laughingly, agreed with Harry that perhaps they should try a second dinner date. Ten months since Ros, whilst helping Malcolm change some ancient bugs for newer ones, had mistaken a blue wire for a green one, tugged too hard, and fallen, quite without grace, from the stepladder, and into the blushing technician's arms.

When Ruth had come back, and surprised Harry by being quite willing to pick up where they had left off, the world-weary section head had realised that he needed to take a long, hard, unforgiving look at his priorities. The result had been his shock announcement that he would be dramatically reshaping the department.

Adam had been promoted to a newly invented post, which was a sort of halfway house between his old position, and Harry's position of section head. Ros, meanwhile, was given Adam's old job. This effectively meant that Harry now had twice the spare time that he had previously had. Of course, his connections, and talent for getting what he wanted from people – one which surpassed even Adam's – still needed to be called upon from time to time, and he would never be content to step back completely from the forefront of the defence of the realm, but he did now leave much of the responsibility for decision-making and heading up the team to Adam.

When he had announced the plan, several jaws had dropped. How on Earth would Harry Pearce survive without his every living moment being taken up with pacing around, shouting at politicians, and turning red in the face?

The owners of the jaws in question had not bargained on the new activities that he had discovered to keep himself busy.

Another aspect of Harry's shake-up was to bring in an old colleague of his – Connie James. Ruth – though she had returned to Britain, and to London, and to Harry – had decided that her return to MI5 would be only partial. She loved her work, but it had always been something of a substitute for an actual life, and now she had one of those. So, instead of taking up her old position of senior analyst, she had passed the buck to Connie, and instead accepted a newly-created post of assistant senior analyst. The extra word meant whole world of difference to Ruth's life. Suddenly, her job really was a nine-to-five living – unless there was a crisis, of course. She worked reasonable hours, her weekends were all her own, and her holidays were, well, generous.

It is often said that a person cannot have their cake and eat it too, but thanks to Harry's sheer determination – and the sense of purpose that he gained from Ruth's presence – that was precisely what section D proceeded to do.

Adam made the new position entirely his own. He was wonderful at bridging the gap between those who made the decisions, and those who implemented them. He was an extra line of communication between Harry and his officers, relaying to him their fears, doubts, and ideas. When he was left to take charge, he was mindful of Harry's advice, of his own experiences, and of the opinions of his officers. He was fair, intuitive, and ruthless, and the team flourished even more effectively under his new level of authority. Of course, there was a lot less field work involved in his new duties, but lately he had started to regard that as a good thing – the thought of missing Wes growing up made his blood run cold. Besides, he had always been brilliant at being smarmy with the country's big cheeses.

Meanwhile, Ros seemed determined to prove that Harry should have given her Adam's job the second that she stepped onto the grid. Deciding that, as her predecessor had carried most of the consideration and motivation and generally personal aspects of the job into his new position, she would completely forget about mollycoddling and mentoring, and focus on streamlining the section to run with deadly efficiency and precision. That was not to say that she was cruel or domineering – in fact, for Ros, she had been remarkably cheery of late – only that, if a member of the team wanted a heart-to-heart, they knew that Adam's office, or perhaps Ruth's workstation, were the places to head.

Ros had also surprised them all by placing great emphasis on developing the technical aspects of their work even further. At least, they had been surprised, until they had realised that she might have ulterior motives regarding the frequent, late-night, one-to-one meetings between her and Malcolm. On the Grid though, of course. Or, maybe…_occasionally_…at a restaurant, or one of their homes…?

Amongst all this change and romance, Zaf and Jo pottered along much as before, ecstatic to have Ruth back, of course – she had been a somewhat maternal figure to both of them – but nonetheless bemused at it all.

Though, eventually, they had decided that they should probably have their own turn at generating some change when, seeing a film at the cinema one evening, they had bumped into, and befriended, a certain Sam Buxton. It was with surprisingly open arms that Harry had welcomed the lovely, kooky Sam back into the fold, after realising that she had matured tenfold since Danny's death and Zaf's arrival.

Connie, meanwhile, just watched everything with a dry smile, and the occasional rolling of her eyes.

*

So, here they were, singing Mozart as Ros walked up the aisle. The team were the only guests apart from mothers of both bride and groom, and of course, Wes. In the enormous church – a traditional setting, which they had been surprised to hear that Ros had not merely agreed to, but in fact, suggested – the effect should have been a negative one. It should have felt lonely and cold, but somehow, the empty pews were beautiful. Malcolm and Ros' entire world was present, and nothing more was needed.

Harry looked proud as punch as he walked a truly stunning-looking Ros down the aisle. The bride had decided on a simple, but striking dress, and her hair was pulled back from her face, twisted up at the back of her head. The lily and the bracelet were the only ornaments to adorn her. She didn't even have a bouquet. It was just as with the guests – nothing more was needed.

Both bride and groom exchanged a private smile as she finally reached the end of the aisle, and Harry gave her a soft kiss on the cheek before going to stand beside Ruth. To a casual observer the ironic grins would have looked out of place – especially Ros', which was far less nervous than Malcolm's – almost as though belittling what they were about to do. But to Ruth, Harry, and Adam, the look made perfect sense. It was a look that said, _'We bloody made it. Despite all the obstacles, despite everything that says we shouldn't be here – we are.'_

Wes didn't understand why his daddy squeezed his hand extra hard at that moment, but he didn't really mind.

Meanwhile, as Ruth felt Harry's arm creep tightly around her waist, her mind wandered to the events of her own wedding – just three months before. They had been traveling whenever they got the chance since she got back, and somehow they had found themselves on an unconventionally gorgeous, rural, near-deserted stretch of beach a couple of hours before sunset, basking in the last of the day's modest heat. She could remember every word of their conversation.

'_I always imagined getting married somewhere like this.' An honestly innocent remark, of the sort people often make when warm, content, and absentminded._

'_Why not this evening?'_

_She looked across at him. 'Is that your idea of a proposal?'_

'_No. This is my idea of a proposal – Ruth, will you marry me?'_

'_Oh.' She squinted as she stared out across the horizon. 'Yes. I will.'_

He had astounded her by summoning up everything necessary in less than an hour and a half, and then…they got married.

One of the bemused locals acting as a witness had snapped a picture of them as they sealed the whole thing with a kiss, just as the sun disappeared from sight. They'd sent it to Adam for him to show to everyone else. Simply slipped it into an envelope with a note reading,

_Mr. and Mrs. Pearce – March 22__nd__, Sunset._

The photograph now took pride of place in their – previously Harry's – front room.

The sound of Sam already weeping quietly beside her reminded Ruth to come back to the present moment. Just in time for the vows.

Malcolm surprised everyone when he started off, "Entrusting minds far greater than my own with the task of conveying what I feel is something that I have done my entire life. And up until today, I suppose you could say that it has served me well. But when I came to searching for the perfect sonnet, the ideal quotation, I realised that there were none to be found. I realised that I was going to have to use my own, woefully inadequate mind, and think of something of _my_ _own_ to say…"

Ruth, Connie, Jo, and Sam all had streaming faces by the time it came to Ros' turn.

"_I'm yours."_

It was all she said. Or whispered, really. But it was still the final straw for both Adam and Zaf, who both let their tears finally fall.

Ros and Malcolm joined in with the laughter at the sight, but there was no disguising their giddy smiles.

*

"Look, Harry?"

Despite years of field experience, Harry could not stop himself from jumping as Ros ambushed him outside the gents.

"Er, yes, Ros?"

Ros caught his pointed glance at the door behind him.

"Yeah, sorry. But, I just wanted to thank you. For this."

She gestured around them. The restaurant was entirely empty, excluding their own small wedding party.

Harry smiled. "Not a problem. Owner owes me so many favors, he's lucky I don't just demand the deeds off him."

That appealed to Ros' sense of humour, and she was still feeling unnaturally happy from the events of the day. She laughed loudly at the joke for a moment.

"Really – thanks," she said, when she'd finally recovered.

"You're welcome, Ros."

They stayed silent for a moment, before Ros spoke again.

"Last week, I found out I was pregnant."

Had she been present, Ruth would have said that Harry's reaction was remarkably similar to the one he'd given to Sam's talking about PMT.

"Wow. That's…"

"Unexpected?"

His face relaxed into another gentle smile. "Yes. Unexpected. Have you told Malcolm yet?"

She shook her head, and the lily petals danced with the few stray wisps of hair that had escaped from the tight bun.

"I thought I'd leave it until tomorrow. Just let today be about the wedding."

"I understand. Well, congratulations. I mean, I'm presuming…?"

"Yes." Ros looked away from him, and he could see that she was thinking deeply as she continued, more to herself than to him. "I'm actually really happy about it."

*

One Week Later

Ruth stretched out luxuriously between the sheets.

"Mmm. Bed feels so good after a long day."

Harry nodded distractedly. He was pacing up and down the stretch of carpet beside their bed, and she couldn't work out if it was in a good way.

"Look, Harry, forget what Juliet says – today was a good day."

He looked up at her, confused.

"Ah," continued Ruth. "Whatever's bothering you isn't to do with work." She sat up against the pillows, looking serious. "Is it Ros' pregnancy?"

"How did you know about that?" he asked sharply.

"Same way as you – her and Malcolm announced it today." She frowned, suddenly twigging. "You knew already?"

"Mmm. Just don't…mention that to anyone, will you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. But, if it's not that…is it me, Harry?"

Harry's face softened, and he sat before her on the bed, taking her hand. "What have I told you about my staff behaving like idiots?"

She grinned, and pressed her forehead to his. "It will not be tolerated."

"Quite." He leant forward and kissed her, before suddenly pulling back again. "Have you noticed how unusually cheery you are today?"

Her jaw dropped, and she looked as though she was about to hit him. He continued quickly.

"I mean, unusually so for _today_."

She frowned again. "I'm sorry, Harry – you're being a bit cryptic. Even for me."

"Well, like you said; it's been a busy day. Quite understandable that you would completely forget about the little purple 'p' you're so careful to add to your diary on the fifth of every month…"

Ruth gasped as he finished his speech with suggestively raised eyebrows. Seeing that she was following him, he dropped his potential bombshell.

"The new pack of…er…" He coughed in embarrassment. "…Tampons you bought to replace the ones you used up last month. They haven't been touched."

If it hadn't felt quite so much like the planet was turning over, she would have remarked disbelievingly at just how observant he actually was.

"Well, there's no point jumping to conclusions, yet," she said, in a hollow voice. "Not until I've done a…"

Her voice petered out as he stood up and withdrew a paper bag from the pocket of his jacket, which was slung over a chair on the other side of the room.

"Test," he announced, adding by way of explanation, "It hit me during morning briefing, so I popped out and bought one."

Ruth's hand shook a little as she took the bag from him, and exited to the en suite, without another word.

Harry waited nervously…

*

"Well?"

Ruth shrugged, looking down at the white stick clutched tightly in her – now quite still – hands.

Finally, she answered. "I suppose the grid's going to have to get a baby changing unit installed…"


	2. Chapter 2

"Malcolm?"

Ros' voice rang out through the quiet house, up the stairs, and jolted Malcolm from his light slumber.

"Yes, dear?" came the sleepy reply.

"I've unpacked the last box! We can start opening the presents now!"

It had been Ros' rule – the wedding gifts would sit on the dining table, unopened and undisturbed, until they were properly moved in.

"But it's two in the morning, Ros!"

Ros straightened up, revealing the faint muscle tone in her arms as she stretched.

"Look, do you want to see what everyone got us, or not?"

A weary sigh was Malcolm's only reply as he threw the covers aside.

After a few minutes, he joined her in the dining room, padding across the floor in slippered feet. The combination of the traditional brown slippers and blue and white striped pyjamas, contrasting with her dark jeans and tank top, made them look like the world's most unlikely couple as they stood side by, regarding the presents. Which, in truth, they probably were.

"Which shall we open first?" asked Ros, a childish grin on her face.

Malcolm scanned over the various bundles. "Well, there's no point bothering with Zaf's just yet; it's obviously a bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage, and I'm not going to sit here drinking alone."

"You know," said Ros, frowning thoughtfully, "You seem to be taking this whole pregnancy thing very much in your stride. I thought you'd be panicking, and turning that funny pink colour you turn when people's anti-bugging devices get the better of you."

"Well, I did at first."

"Yeah, but you got over it very quickly. You're not in denial, are you? Because I'm not going to be lying on some hospital bed, a baby's head poking out from between my legs, and have you flapping around like an hysterical Brontë heroine."

"If I'm hysterical, it'll no doubt be _your _fault," said Malcolm, rolling his eyes. "In fact, I'm not even sure I want to be in the room at the birth – you're quite terrifying when you're angry."

"Why would I be angry at the birth of our first born child, Malcolm? I'm sure I'll be perfectly weepy and gushing. Perhaps I'll even burst into song."

Malcolm snorted. "Do you remember Christmas? When you tripped over that tinsel Jo dropped on the floor?"

"Ah. Yes."

"Quite. When you're in pain, you're angry. And when you're angry, you're really quite scary."

"Not that scary," said Ros, trying to look offended.

"You made Jo cry."

"She had something in her eye."

"_Ros_."

She didn't argue further, choosing to smile darkly instead. It was an expression that terrified just about everyone who saw it – even Harry, though he'd never admit it. Even Malcolm had only lately started to acquaint himself with the fact that bad things did not _always _happen when he saw that smile.

They went about opening the gifts.

Mindful of their just moving into a new house, Jo bought them bookends and a vase in colours that she knew would suit the scheme in the front room, and a door sign for Malcolm's gadget room, which read 'Genius at work'.

Zaf had indeed bought them alcohol – a bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne.

Ruth and Harry had chosen an album for the wedding photos, and a frame for whichever one they decided to display.

Connie had, as was her manner, surprisingly outdone herself and presented them with a stunning pair or ornate wine glasses, and various bits and pieces of crockery in a style neither found to be lacking in taste.

Adam and Wes had hunted out a small antique mahogany chest for keepsakes the couple collected during the course of their marriage.

Sam had commissioned an artist friend of hers to paint them a large, abstract canvas to hang in whichever room they chose.

"Not a bad haul," noted Ros, surrounded by a mountain of delicate, silvery wrapping paper.

"They're lovely," agreed Malcolm.

They sat in contented silence for a moment, each lost in private reflections.

"Malcolm," said Ros finally, "You were joking, weren't you? You don't actually think that you're going to escape being there at the birth?"

Malcolm kissed her delicately on the cheek.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Ros batted him away.

"Alright. No need to go all soppy."

But somewhere inside, she silently wondered for the millionth time just when her mind had decided that a certain amount of soppiness was alright.

In private though. Of course.

*

They had relocated to the front room.

Harry's expression was surprisingly focused as he poured himself a scotch. Ruth's, on the other hand, made her look a little as though she had been hit by a truck.

"I'd offer you one," said Harry, gesturing to her glass, "But…"

Ruth looked up at him, her eyes widening as she shook her head in a familiar '_not_ what you should be saying, Harry' gesture.

Finally, she found her voice.

"We can't do this, Harry. I mean, we both have our jobs, and the second we have any spare time, we're jetting off to God knows where, and I was _enjoying _just relaxing with you, and Christ; what if someone decided to get to you through…_oh_, and what if something happens to one of us? Or _both_ of us?! Harry, we can't…"

She was rambling nervously, her voice, usually so low and calm – so often the voice of reason – rapidly becoming completely incoherent. There were so many ideas and worries beginning in her head, that she could barely finish one, before another came to her.

"Ruth –"

She cut him off. "I mean, look at us, Harry! We're not parents! Oh, Lord; _parents_…"

"_Ruth_." His voice was firmer this time, and she stopped talking abruptly, her eyes turning up to follow him as he paced before her.

"The way I see it, Ruth, this _is _happening. There is no 'we can't'; we _have_ to."

Ruth nodded dumbly, and he could see that his words had completely failed to penetrate. Trying a different tact, he knelt before her in the armchair she was curled in – _his _armchair; she so often sat in it when seeking comfort – and took her chin in his hand.

"Ruth, we'll be fine."

She nodded again, this time, far more alert.

"Us, Harry," she whispered finally, her voice hushed. "Us. Parents."

"Yes – us. Parents."


	3. Chapter 3

"_Ros_ –"

Ros didn't miss a beat in correcting the man stood before her.

"It's Rosalind to you."

"It was always 'Ros' before," leered the man before her. "Still, don't want to get you all scratchy, do I? Perhaps you'd prefer 'Miss Myers'?"

"Miss Myers will do just fine," replied Ros, with a sweet smile; seemingly oblivious to the other man's unwelcome attention.

Seemingly oblivious apart from the fact that she had grabbed his throat roughly.

"You," she growled, "Are getting less and less useful to me, Greene." Another slight squeeze. "Now do you have anything for me, or not?"

"You mean intelligence?" gasped Greene, still managing to smirk, though he could barely breathe.

Her knee crept up so that it rested just between his legs, applying the slightest pressure.

"What do you think I mean?" she asked.

Seeing that the appointment was fast coming to an end, Greene shook his head.

"Nope. Nothing this time."

Ros released the man's neck, pointedly wiping her palms on her trousers. Greene wasn't fazed.

"You're the only person I know who'd dare do that," he said, snaking an arm tightly around Ros' waist. "I miss that about you, Ros."

Ros regarded him for a long, long while, before stepping quickly out of his grip, and heading towards her car. She didn't turn back, and she didn't bother with goodbyes.

*

Ruth was wrestling angrily with the plastic seal on the orange juice when Harry entered the snack room.

"Have you ever heard of displacement?" he asked, sounding as amused as he dared as he took the carton from her.

Ruth smiled weakly.

"I can shout at inanimate objects without having to worry about it saying infuriatingly sensible things back," she explained.

"That's a dig at me, I presume," said Harry. "Well, I will endeavour to be far less logical in future."

With a final tug, he detached the seal, and passed the carton back to Ruth.

"Thank you," she said brightly.

Harry wasn't sure whether she was talking about the juice or what he's just said. He decided not to ask.

"Morning briefing's running late," noted Ruth suddenly.

"We're waiting for Ros. She had a meeting with an ex-colleague."

"Oh, right."

Harry tucked his hands in his pocket, regarding his wife thoughtfully.

"You know, she had her first scan yesterday," he announced as neutrally as he could manage.

"Oh, yes?" replied Ruth.

She was no idiot. She knew exactly where Harry was heading with this, and refused to help him.

"Yours is coming up soon, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Do you think –?"

At that moment, there was the sound of a mild commotion from the grid. Ruth stuck her head out of the door and listened.

"Ros is back," she noted. "Briefing."

And with that, she exited the snack room, orange juice in hand.

Harry watched after her, shaking his head.

"My God, that woman moves fast when she's avoiding something."

*

"Malcolm, please put the picture away."

Malcolm was unperturbed by Ros' warning tone.

"I asked you if I could show it during the morning briefing, and you said once we'd finished talking about work-related matters. Well, we've finished talking about work related matters."

Ros rolled her eyes. "Yes, but we've been finished for about ten minutes now, and you are _still _showing off a photo of what is, essentially, a blob."

"Ros! That's your first scan!" gasped Malcolm.

"Yes," replied Ros, wearily. "And I'm sure that we will produce the most attractive baby ever conceived, but right now – at this very moment in time – it looks like a blob."

Their mild argument lasted for a few more minutes before, finally, the team began to disperse, and go about their various tasks for the day.

As Sam stood up to do the same, Ruth grabbed her hand, and pulled her back into her seat.

"Sam? Can I talk to you about something?"

She wasn't sure why it was that she always confided in Sam. Being someone who was, herself, such an expert at giving out advice, she should probably have been able to select a more appropriate confidante, but as it was, she frequently found herself pouring out her heart to the younger woman. Even now, after all these years, nothing about that had changed.

Sam nodded in reply to Ruth's request, her eyes wide as she anticipated a windfall of juicy gossip.

"Well," started Ruth uncertainly, "It's just that…"

She had been bursting with the secret, but now that it came to telling someone, she couldn't seem to find the words.

Sam laughed lightly at her friend's uncertainty. "You're not pregnant too, are you?" she quipped.

Ruth winced, and suddenly, Sam realised.

"Oh my God!" she gasped. "You and Harry are –"

"Having a baby," interrupted Ruth quietly. "Yes."

A wide grin claimed Sam's face as she pulled Ruth into a tight hug. "Oh, congratulations, Ruth!"

"Thanks, Sam. But…er…don't tell anyone, will you?"


End file.
